


We Didn't

by nellywrites



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Inspired by Novel, M/M, Sex, a lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellywrites/pseuds/nellywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A meditation on what if. More language than plot to be honest. My love song to Seblaine and Stuart Dybek's 'We Didn't'. </p><p>"They did it because Friday night was shining like a fiery beacon and drums drummed drummed drummed, all pounding the same pulsebeat ‘round their bodies and they couldn't wait any longer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for seblaineweek2014 on tumblr.

THEY DID IT before mirrors and pressed against the glass in steaming shower stalls. They did it against walls and on the furniture in ways that required previously unimagined gymnastics, which they invented on the spot. They did it because because they were home free, alive, they did it in darkness and in private because sometimes love is not enough, they did it because they didn't want to be fated, they wanted to choose, they did it because Friday night was shining like a fiery beacon and drums _drummed drummed drummed_ , all pounding the same pulsebeat ‘round their bodies and they couldn't wait any longer.

NEW YORK.  A new place, a new time, the world offering everything new and Blaine itching to leave the past behind. NYADA turns out to be remarkably small and not at all conducive to anonymity or new beginnings. Just as well. No one in the school actually wants to be anonymous, and Blaine has barely stepped inside the building and has already acquired certain fame for being Rachel Berry’s first Tony. The title doesn’t bother him much. Nonetheless, Blaine finds it deceptively easy to charm his way up to his own spot of honor in the juvenile hierarchy of drama school. The privileged spot comes with new friends, like Elliott, who one day mid-semester whines and wheedles until Blaine acquiesces to go to a party with him at someone's loft in The Village. There’s a guy apparently, that Elliott is totally gagging for-- Elliott's words not Blaine’s-- but he’s totally out of Elliott’s league and Elliott is so nervous and Blaine would be the best friend ever if he was Elliott’s wing man for the night. So Blaine goes.

The apartment jam-packed, the music at a respectable mid-point between too loud to talk, and too low to dance, and Blaine in his tightest red jeans. Sebastian Smythe is the last person Blaine expects to run into, but it turns out the swanky loft belongs to him; a gift from overcompensating grandparents that even Sebastian admits he’s nowhere close to deserving. It stuns Blaine now, and settles warm and anxious in the pit of his stomach, as it always does, how different Sebastian looks out of Dalton uniform. Entirely sober, or mostly, anyway, they share one look and then they’re stepping over hipsters in the suspended staircase. The sleeping alcove is blessedly empty. Sebastian slides one knee into the space between Blaine’s thighs and takes him around the waist, _do it softly_ , and they sway to lazy tunes, with eyes wide open, _don’t leave me high and dry_ , and rock and spin and grind to “Gods and Monsters” or “Born to Die.”  Sebastian puts moist lips to Blaine’s neck, runs a sweeping hand down Blaine’s inside thigh and they go loose-limbed and sultry and smooth as silk while the party goes on downstairs. They never see each other again after that but they think, I could have loved that one.

 

NEW YORK again, 2016 maybe, after another breakup, permanent this time. Or so they say. Blaine no longer blushing or fumbling at Sebastian’s advances, instead saying _fuck yeah give it to me_ , and _I don't really want to know what's good for me_ , or maybe smiling as he sucks bruises onto the joint of Sebastian's hip. _You're the fifth guy I've slept with_ , he says, low, husky, as if he were confessing to something much more scandalous.

“Fifth?” Sebastian says, no trace of real jealousy but affects it anyway because this is the game they play.

“Yeah, _fifth_ ,” Blaine says again and folds his arms over Sebastian’s stomach resting his chin on them like he didn’t have Sebastian’s dick in his mouth not ten minutes ago. “There was Kurt, obviously. Then there was Eli, the guy I cheated on Kurt with. He was a mistake.” Blaine goes silent because he’d never admitted that to Sebastian. He’d dropped hints here and there, always vying for the nonchalance the situation doesn’t warrant, but Sebastian senses Blaine doesn’t have anything more to say about it, and truthfully he doesn’t care much. If there is one thing Sebastian knows is he will never be jealous of that guy.  

“That makes two. Who was the third?” Sebastian asks, maneuvering a leg from under Blaine’s weight to drag his foot up Blaine’s calf.

" I met him at the gym.”

“You slut.”

“Shut up,” Blaine gripes, and tugs on Sebastian’s pubic hair hard enough to make him wince until he laughs.

“So you two didn’t have a raunchy encounter in the gym showers  worthy of a Craigslist missed connections post? Bummer.” He skips asking after the details. Something in Blaine’s face warns him the main attraction is still to come.

“And the fourth?”

“Sam Evans,” Blaine says just to watch the ways Sebastian falls apart. The uncharacteristic whimper, the subtle yet pointed parting of his thighs, the telltale clench of a fist in the sheets. Lies, all a lie and Blaine has long since stopped feeling guilty over those. Around the same time he fucked a mutual friend of his and Kurt’s-- the actual fourth guy he doesn't mention-- a mere four weeks after the latest break up, not once but three times. They'll take it to their graves not because they regret it but because they don't.

But Sebastian doesn’t need to know Blaine and Sam hadn’t actually done anything more than make-out, half-drunk and barely awake, just the once. That isn’t what matters, because Sebastian is growling now and flipping them over on the bed, pressing Blaine’s wrists into the mattress.

“Was he eager? Of course he was, what am I talking about, I bet he couldn’t keep his hands off you,  I bet he’d been repressing those urges for years, every time you looked at him with those stupid doe eyes he didn’t know if he wanted to hit you or fuck you. What’d he do? Did he blow you? I bet he did, with those lips of his.”

At the mention of lips Blaine licks his own, still swollen and reddened from earlier, and then stretches them into a lazy smile, tipping his head back just to look at Sebastian from my underneath the curtain of heavy lashes. He's neither confirming nor denying anything because now he’s got Sebastian right where he wants him.

“Does that turn you on? Thinking about a confused straight guy messing around with me, acting so irrational and uninhibited?" Sebastian's grip on Blaine's wrists tightens and Blaine delivers his closing line, "What if I told you he wanted to do it again?”

Finally, finally, Sebastian drops down to kiss Blaine, mouth already open, just like Blaine knew he would, because Blaine knows him despite what Sebastian otherwise thinks, and Blaine knows precisely how to poke the narcissist that lives inside him. Sebastian Smythe does, in fact, feel jealousy.

There are no more words exchanged as they kiss and bite and suck, and grip and grind, slamming together still feeling for that perfect fit, still in the _Here_ groping for an _Eternity_ that is only a fine adjustment away, _love, give it to me slowly_ , and _baby, that's alright with me_. Sebastian doing his best to make this the best sex ever, yes, because the prick is the most arrogant person Blaine has ever met, yes, and if that means Blaine spreading his thighs further, arching his back with more drama, or moaning in a higher pitch than what he normally would just to make him buy it, then that’s what he does, until he's not faking it anymore and they’re shuddering and panting and Sebastian angles his mouth to Blaine’s ear to whisper, _and Sebastian makes five_.

  
  
  


OHIO, earlier, much earlier, and they are still teenagers, Blaine nursing a broken heart and Sebastian trying to pretend he can do casual when it comes to Blaine, like he won't be the one nursing a broken heart, a few weeks or months from now, when Blaine inevitably leaves him. The first time not sleazy and hurried after drinking and dancing in Lima's only gay bar, but unexpectedly tender and shy after an afternoon coffee that ends with _we should do this again some time_ , which leads to a tentative dinner the following week that ends in _would you like to come up_? It happens again a week after, and again the week after that, each time swearing _this is the last time_.

 

Or earlier, even, just once, hurried and illicit and shameful, something deep inside them ruined in the after, and Sebastian doesn’t even ask for anything and Blaine doesn't try to explain it away because it’s obviously their own damn fault. They open their beds and their mouths and their legs, but can’t, or don’t dare anymore, to open their hearts.

 

 

FORWARD AGAIN, maybe New York, maybe Chicago, maybe San Francisco, both on the cusp of thirty. A cigarette break and a stage door, eyes meeting above a crowd and Blaine smiles in surprised delight, Sebastian answering with a smile of his own, not betraying if their reunion is happenstance or the result of detailed calculation. Drinks after, in a swanky bar. This is Blaine's second show but his first lead. Sebastian is a wine distributor for his grandfather's vineyard, and yes, they're both single. And maybe it's nostalgia or curiosity over what could never be before, but Sebastian says they should go back to his place because he’s got a bottle of wine with Blaine’s name on it, something he absolutely has to sample, and they both know he’s not talking about the alcohol anymore. There is no hurry; they both know where the night is ending, and they have all the time in the world to get there. Age has tempered their eagerness, you see. There is no awkward disrobing because they are not boys anymore. The morning after, they are still sharing a bed and they think maybe this time they will make it work.

 

IN THE PARKING LOT behind the old abandoned theatre--Westerville's lovers' lane -- where Sebastian perfected the flick that slips open a button, they didn't. They didn't in the light; they didn't in darkness. They didn't in the fresh cut grass of the lacrosse field. They didn't in the twin sized bed of the dorm Sebastian lived in, or in the backseat of Blaine's sensible Prius, with Blaine on top because no other way to fit long legs but to make right angles out of them. How adept they were at fumbling. How perfectly mistimed their timing, how utterly they confused energy with possibility.

But they didn’t, not in the moonlight, or in the clandestine isolation of corridors and empty houses, or in the dark glow of dance clubs that replaced the real darkness of night, a darkness already stolen from them,  not with the skyline behind them while a city kept moving, not in the heat of summer, despite the freedom of youth and license of recklessness-- because of fate, karma, luck, what does it matter?-- they made not doing it a wonder, and yet _we didn’t_ , they didn’t, they never did.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is made up from old discarded drafts of abandoned fic, a few literary quotes (Stuart Dybek's 'We Didn't' and a Jeanette Winterson quote) and a little Lana del Rey. Another literary experiment for you to suffer through ;)
> 
> [Tumblr post of this fic](http://voices-echo.tumblr.com/post/91274726585/fic-we-didnt)


End file.
